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captainmarvels · 5 years

Text

gliding light | one

Summary: Steve’s a little more preoccupied than usual, and gets (literally) knocked back into his senses.

Steve Appreciation Week Day 3 Prompt: Steve, Bruised and Battered

Pairing: (eventually) Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Warnings: hockey fight, steve dislocates his shoulder, the usual messiness

Word Count: 3011 (sorry!!!)

A/N: first chapter for my college/hockey player steve au series! yay! I incorporated the steve appreciation week prompt into this chapter because what better way for steve to end up bruised and battered than during a fight in the ice rink? anyways, enjoy and lmk what you think! x

masterlist | taglist - add yourself!

As a kid, you don’t have much say in the trajectory of your life as the years go by. Your parents will have expectations; ideals, really. They aspire to see you grow up as they did; be what they once were; do what they once did. They really just want you to be like them.

And why is that?

Your teachers will emphasize every year that your dreams are what you make them; that you are the captain of the ship named “My Life”, and that you are the sole determiner of the course that ship will take.

But what happens when others have come aboard your ship, taken control of the steer, and claimed it as their own?

What happens when you can no longer have a stake in where your life takes you?

Steve can always be found leaning against the wall of the gym, staring at the ground, with his hair tied up in a messy bun, and his basketball shorts hanging loosely off his hips.

As you make your way over to him, your backpack strap slipping off your shoulder again and again, you wonder what’s happened with his dad this time.

Because it’s always his dad.

“Hey there, Harrington,”

“Hey there yourself, missy. Debate team run long?” He glances up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sort of - Nancy was getting a little too into it again,”

“When’s she gonna let you be captain?” You shrug in response, struggling to keep a steady hold on the mountain of books you were carrying.

“Here, let me-” Steve catches the few books that manage to slip of the top with ease, chuckling loudly as you lean against the wall opposite him.

“I swear, I’m gonna need three backpacks just to carry all these,”

“You can have mine if you want - it’s empty anyways,”

“We still on for homework and dinner tonight?” Steve nods, grinning as he opens up his bag and drops the books inside.

“Whose cooking will I be enjoying later this evening?” He asks as leans towards you.

“Lasagna, made by yours truly! My mom said pizza is on her this weekend, so...”

“Sleepover?” You nod, zipping up the bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Can you drive me to practice Saturday morning then?” The two of you start walking towards the student parking lot as Steve continues. “John and the boys want to run a few extra drills before the first home game next week,”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna lose you to basketball practice so soon, it feels like just yesterday was the end of the season,” You say, kicking the car door wide open with your foot before dropping your backpacks in the backseat.

“Well, technically it was last month. But it’s state finals, baby! We gotta get in A-game shape!”

“I hate when you talk like that, it scares me like nothing else ever has before,” You both burst out laughing as you get into the car, Steve’s hand reaching over to take the car keys from you.

“It’s our junior year, sweetheart. You of all people should know we have to finish off strong. If I don’t get us the state championship, I might as well kiss college goodbye,”

You roll your eyes at him, snatching the keys out of his grasp before he can protest.

“Yes, I know. Regardless, you should still apply and try to get in with other scholarships and achievements besides basketball, Steve. Okay?”

He nods, eyes closing slowly as he turns to face the window.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

On an early Saturday morning, the last thing you expect to see is your childhood best friend barging into your bedroom, telling you to wake up before he’s late.

“Wha- What time is practice at? It’s a Saturday, for crying out loud!” You throw a pillow at Steve’s face, groaning as you cover your own with the duvet.

“I’m telling you, it’s the finals! C’mon, I can’t be late for this and you promised you’d drive me!”

The whole car ride to Hawkins High, Steve was tapping his fingers on his knees, his eyes focused on the road.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this anxious to get to practice, Harrington. Something up?” You ask as you pull into the driveway, parking just outside of the gym doors. He says nothing, and instead gets out of the car, and moves to open the backseat doors to grab his bags. You lock them.

“Hey, c’mon now!”

“Tell me what the heck is going on with you first!”

You look at him sternly, pointing at the passenger seat. Steve sighs, and plops back down, not even bothering to meet your gaze.

“Steve, you know I’m not gonna let this go. What’s up?” He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his head back against the headrest of the seat.

“My dad… he’s been giving me a bunch of shit lately for coming home with shit grades, no job… he keeps saying I won’t get anywhere if I don’t make the basketball thing work, and he’s always on my ass about my plays and shit after every game, even though Coach says I’m the best Hawkins’ has had in years, and I’m the fuckin’ team captain. I’m just sick and tired of hearing that ‘I’m not good enough’ from him when I’m doing everything I can, you know?”

Steve’s eyes are shut tight, and you know it’s because he’s fighting back tears. You rest your hand on his arm, saying nothing as you start to count his breaths.

1… 2…. 3…. 4…. 5

“I know you’ll prove him wrong, Steve. You always do. You’re better than he’ll ever be.”

Steve only nods, swallowing thickly as he mulls over your words.

You always know how to make him feel better - especially when it comes to his dad. Ever since you were kids, you always stuck by his side, comforting him and reminding him that he was everything his father was not, and it reminded him that at least he had one person on his team. He was always glad that it was you.

“T-Thanks. And sorry I didn’t say anything before now-”

“No worries. You know I’ll never push. Now get out of my car and show your dad you can take his ass in basketball any day, okay?”

He opens his eyes, smiling as he locked eyes with you. He takes your hand in his and squeezes gently before letting go and stepping out of the car to grab his bags.

As he shuts the door, you roll down the passenger window.

“Need me to swing by later or you good?” He shrugs, looking over the car at something in the distance.

Patting the car roof, he says, “I’ll let you know, yeah?” before heading off into the gym.

As soon as he loses sight of your taillights, Steve books it.

Running across the street without a second glance, Steve can barely pick up the pace as he tries to keep his bags from slipping off his shoulders.

Almost there.

He’s almost out of breath, but he finally makes it.

As he drops a bag to the ground, the bus pulls up to the stop where Steve is standing, the tires coming to a sputtering stop as the doors open.

Picking up his duffel, Steve boards the bus, and flashes the driver his round-trip ticket.

Once settled in a seat, he sets down his bags in the one next to him and finally looks out the window as the bus pulls away.

The sign reading “Now Leaving Hawkins” flashes by, bringing a smile to Steve’s face as he leans back in his seat, eyelids fluttering shut.

Logansport, here I come.

Skates strapped on, helmet secured, and hockey stick in hand, Steve is ready for anything.

Well, almost anything.

He’s already on the ice, squatting in front of the net as he watches the team inch closer and closer with the puck coming right for him.

He hears it before he sees it.

Dodging right, Steve manages to knock the puck off course and straight into the rink wall, some of his teammates cheering loudly behind him as he picked himself up off the ice.

“Nice one, Harrington!”

“What a save, newbie!”

Steve turns around, and is greeted with congratulatory waves and pats on the back as they make their way back to the box.

Well, almost.

Before Steve can step foot off the ice, he’s being pulled back into the rink by one of the older guys, who’s conveniently surrounded by some of his friends.

“Nick, was it?” Steve asked with a muffled voice, his mouth guard still in place.

“How many times you gonna make me look bad in front of Coach, huh?”

The grip on Steve’s shoulder tightened with every passing second, their eyes locked on one another.

“That’s not what I’m tryin’ to do, man,”

“Sure it’s not. Learn to stop kissing ass man, it doesn’t look too good on you,” He spit on Steve’s jersey before pulling off his helmet.

“I will when you learn to make a hard pass, and stop making it so easy for me to block your shots.” Steve pulled off his helmet and dropped it on the ice, the contact making a lasting sound across the empty arena.

“You’re really in it huh, Harrington? Let’s see what you got,” Without warning, Nick moves head on towards Steve, shoving him hard against the tempered glass boards surrounding the rink. Steve feels the back of his head collide with the glass, and thinks for a moment that he’s about to pass out on the spot. He feels blood trickling down the side of his face, and tries his best to wipe it off with the backside of his glove.

Before he can re-orient himself, Nick pulls Steve to him and punches him right in the jaw, his gloved hand scraping the underside of his jaw just before he hits him again.

Steve lifts up his knee and tries to hit Nick straight in the balls, but misses as Nick moves backwards, pushing Steve onto the ice. Before he hits the ground, Steve grabs Nick by the ankle and yanks it towards him, forcing him down with him, and they both hit the ice with a loud thud.

Before he can get up, Steve gets kicked on both sides by Nick’s friends; he can’t make out their faces as the right side of his face is already starting to swell up from the punch.

Hands suddenly appear on his arms, pulling him upright. Steve can barely make out Nick as he comes towards him, pummeling straight onto the ice again with two swift punches - one to the face, and another to the gut.

Steve lands on his side and winces as he hears the unmistakable sound of his shoulder popping out of his socket.

“Fuck,” is all he manages to get out before losing consciousness.

Flashes of bright white bring Steve back to the land of the living, and he finds himself sitting upright on a hospital bed. He glances down, wincing at the sharp pain shooting down his neck, and finds his arm in a sling, a band of ice packs wrapped neatly around his shoulder.

Way to go, Harrington.

Before he makes any sudden movements, a doctor appears outside his door, tapping his clipboard with a pen.

“Well, Mr. Harrington, you’re lucky that shoulder injury isn’t more severe.”

Steve laughs awkwardly, barely nodding as the doctor moves closer to his bed.

“A harder push, or a different surface of impact, and we’d be looking at a separated shoulder in need of surgery. You’ll need to stay off the ice for the next four weeks though, I’m afraid.”

“No way for a quicker healing turnaround, Doc?” Steve smiled, wincing immediately from the flare of pain in his jaw.

“No can do, mister. If you want to regain full use of that thing, I suggest you keep your sport activities to a minimum, and stay off the ice. I have a painkiller prescription for you here,” The doctor flashes a piece of paper, “in case the pain lingers. If you dislocate it again, you’ll need to come in so I can re-examine it, alright?”

Steve nods in response, grimacing at the random flashes of pain he was getting from his shoulder and neck.

“Your friend is waiting for you outside; I’ll let her know you’re awake,”

Before he could ask any questions, the doctor stepped out, and was replaced by you.

Shit.

“Glad to know you’re not dead.”

“Can this… can we wait until we get home? I promise I’ll explain,” Steve says hoarsely, a weak smile appearing as he tries to appease the anger he knows is boiling over inside of you.

“Explain everything, or I’ll make sure that shoulder pops out again.”

The whole ride back to Hawkins was nerve wracking for Steve; a dead silence filling the car, your eyes focused on the road, your mind focused on the different ways you could kill Steve and get away with it. He was terrified of how upset you were, and he knew you were devising some sort of plan for revenge and honestly? He couldn’t blame you.

You were his best friend, after all. And he, yours.

Of course it pissed you off that he ran off to God knows where without telling you and almost died after a stupid, unfair fight.

This was the first secret he’d kept from you in years, and he just hoped you’d forgive him.

Growing up, he put you through a lot of shit, but you always forgave him, no matter what. Whether he’d just broken your brand new bike, or the time he accidentally elbowed you in the nose and broke it, or the five times you had to call firefighters to your house because Steve accidentally set something on fire.

No matter what, you forgave him.

But he’s painfully aware that this time around is different, because he lied.

And that’s one of your sacred rules.

No lies.

The day you agreed to be friends, you made a pact that you both swore you’d honor to the grave - dramatic for a pair of five year olds, but nonetheless. You shook on it, and ever since then, it was the one rule left untouched - until now.

Once you pull into the driveway of your house, you help carry his bags into the house.

“Go wait upstairs,” was all you said after slamming the front door shut, and Steve followed directions.

You tossed his things into the empty coat closet by the bathroom before heading to your bathroom, where you grabbed some rubbing alcohol, cotton balls and some gauze. Then you head off to your room, where you find Steve sitting on the edge of your bed, looking mopey as ever.

After shutting the door, you turn to look at him.

“Well, you better start talking, Harrington.”

You lean back against the door, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited for him to speak.

“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out but,” He sighed, using his good hand to brush back some hair that was falling across his face. “I- I’ve been training and playing with this, this club hockey team over in Logansport for the last few months and,”

“Months?” You interrupt, scoffing at the fact that he had been lying for months now.

“I swear, I was gonna tell you-”

“When? Before or after you got a life threatening concussion?” Steve laughs sarcastically, shaking his head as he drops his gaze from you.

“Before, I promise. I just- I wanted to make sure I was making the right decision - that hockey was really what I wanted to do before telling you. ‘Cuz once I tell you, there’s no going back, and you know that.”

You want to protest his comment, but bite back your tongue instead. Maybe he has a point.

Supporting Steve’s dreams and ambitions meant making sure he followed through on them. Ever since you were both six years old, if Steve told you he wanted to do, be, or have something, you were right there by his side, championing him until he succeeded. But sometimes he’d want to quit, and you wouldn’t let him.

“Anyways, there’s no point in holding out anymore. I joined the club hockey team because I wanna quit the basketball team this summer, after the finals. That’s why it's been a secret for so long - I had to make sure I could do it, and that I wasn’t setting myself up for failure by joining a team for a sport I wasn’t too sure I’d be good at, or even liked. I know I should’ve told you sooner but I wanted to do this for myself, and-”

“For being one of the brightest people I know, you sure know how to pull some idiot moves, ya goof,” He brightens up at your back handed compliment, and flashes you a smile as you look at one another.

“You forgiving me then?”

“Only if you promise to stop hiding stuff from me,”

“I swear, this was it. You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you, honest,” He raises his hand up, chuckling when you roll your eyes.

“So what’s your big plan then?” You sit down next to him, and cup his face gently, turning his head just enough so he was facing you, and start applying the alcohol on the cuts littering his face.

“Get us the state championship, quit before summer session starts, and start practicing with the club hockey team to get ready for the fall season. Easy, right?” He laughs softly and drops his gaze down to his slinged arm as he winces from the sting of the alcohol.

“You’re forgetting something,”

“What?” He glances up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“How are you gonna break the news to your dad?”

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@mercedesbarnes @sadhwstudent @myhearthurtsss @madeinthemidnightmemories @nancethebadass @okaybutsteveharrington @coffee-and-stories @multifan-smc @stebehairrington @cassandras-musings

#dailyharrington #steveweek2019 #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #hockey player steve harrington #steve harrington au #steve harrington fic

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turtle-steverogers · 6 years

Text

Snow Day

skeet skeet on the yeet Emelia and Andrew are back i love these kids

warnings: none

ship: ralbert

editing: no its kinda eh

Race and Albert laid tangled together under their warm blankets, watching quietly as snow fell in sheets outside the window. It was 9 am on a Tuesday, really they should be up by now, doing something productive. But Andrew and Emelia had the day off of school and Race wasn’t needed for work due to the weather, so they couldn’t seem to find the motivation to get up.

Albert tucked his chin further into Race’s neck, humming softly, “It’s really coming down out there,” He mumbled.

Race shifted so that Albert was laying across his chest instead and sighed, “Yeah, s’gonna be fun to shovel up.”

“Aye, we’ll make a game of it,” Albert said, lightly, “Have the kids help us. They’re six, that’s old enough to impart child labor onto, right?”

Race laughed, “Oh, for sure,” he paused when the sound of footsteps rumbled outside their door, “Speak of the devils.”

Their bedroom door burst open and Andrew and Emelia ran in, bounding onto the bed, “It’s snoooowing!” Both children shouted, jumping up and down and effectively breaking Albert and Race apart.

“It sure is, kiddos,” Race said, sitting up and reaching out to pull Emelia onto the bed in between him and Albert.

Albert snatched Andrew out of the air, mid-jump, and placed him on his lap, “You excited to have the day off?”

Andrew and Emelia nodded vigorously, grinning widely, revealing matching missing teeth.

“Can we build snowmen and drink hot cocoa and oh! Ride our sleds?” Emelia asked, enthusiastically.

“Absolutely, bug,” Race said, brushing some of her tangled hair out of her eyes, “But first, you two have to help Daddy and I shovel.”

Emelia and Andrew pouted, but surprisingly didn’t argue, “Okay, Papa,” Andrew said, crawling off of Albert’s lap and sitting cross legged next to Emelia, “But can you make pancakes for breakfast?”

Race and Albert exchanged glances, making a silent agreement. Albert smiled, already swinging his legs out of bed, “I think that can be arranged. Go with Daddy to get into your snow clothes first, though.”

Thirty minutes later, all four of them were fed and geared up, trudging out of the garage with shovels in hand. Emelia and Andrew were each holding colorful sand shovels they had bought the Summer previous when they went to the beach, and although they weren’t the most sufficient for shoveling snow, they worked. Albert and Race were planning on doing the brunt of the work, anyway.

“Andrew, you go start helping Papa at the end of the driveway, me and Em will work up here,” Albert said, already beginning to shovel snow off the pavement. Andrew nodded, hoisting his shovel over his shoulder to mirror Race. Race smirked at his son and the two of them trotted to the end of the driveway and began shoveling.

Twenty minutes passed with no noise other than the sound of shovels scraping ice. Race reached up to wipe some cold sweat off his forehead, feeling slightly spent. He always forgot how much work shoveling snow was. He stood up straighter, feeling his back crack from being slouched over so long, and watched as Andrew diligently shoveled small amounts of snow onto the grass.

“You’re being a trouper, bud,” He praised, earning a smile from Andrew.

“I know! I’m doing good, just like you,” Andrew piped back and Race grinned fondly at him.

“You sure are, dude, almost earned your hot-” He was cut off by snow hitting him in the back of the neck. He resisted the urge to curse as he stumbled forward from the impact and whipped around to see Albert, holding another snowball. He looked entirely too proud of himself and Emelia was doubled over giggling next to him.

“Oh, you are in for it,” Race warned him, reached down to pick up a handful of snow. He balled it up haphazardly and chucked it, hard, at Albert, who dodged it easily.

“That the best you got?” He challenged.

Race glared at him, “Andrew,” he said, not breaking eye contact with his husband, who was resisting the urge to laugh.

“What?” Andrew asked, looking between him and Albert innocently.

“Give me your shovel,” Andrew held the bright orange shovel out for him, which Race took wordlessly. He bent down, making a show of picking up a large amount of snow.

Albert furrowed his eyebrows, watching in confusion as Race strolled closer to him. His eyes widened as Race lifted the shovel behind him and he only had a moment to shield his head as Race launched the snow at him.

Albert staggered backwards, shaking snow furiously out of his hair. He lost balance, falling unceremoniously into the snow and Race laughed, Emelia and Andrew joining in.

“Daddy,” Emelia shrieked, “Papa got you good!”

“Mhmm, but now Papa’s in trouble,” Albert said, pushing himself onto his knees and lunging forward at Race, tackling him down into the snow. Race let out a shout of surprise and he reached out blindly to grab a small handful of snow, shoving it into Albert’s eyes.

Albert wiped the snow away hastily and scrambled off of Race, picking up Emelia and running behind one of the snow mounds they had made, yelling, “Snowball fight!”

Race grabbed Andrew, pulling him behind one of their mounds. They quickly produced a small pile of snowballs and ran out, making a beeline toward where Albert and Emelia were sheltered.

The four of them launched snowballs at the other team, until Andrew shouted, “Every man for himself!”

Snow was flying everywhere, dissolving into powder and seeping through jackets. They all fought until they were panting and laughing on the ground.

“Snow angels!” Emelia exclaimed, waving her arms and legs to create a lopsided angel. She stood to look at her work, “Look Daddy, Papa, look!”

Race and Albert lifted their heads from their places in the snow, “Looks awesome, darling.” Albert complimented.

“Papa,” Andrew whined, laying himself dramatically across Race’s stomach, “I’m cold!”

“Alright, man, let’s get you in,” Race said, wrapping his arms around his son and standing up, tossing Andrew over his shoulder.

Andrew laughed flailing his arms about wildly, “Daddy,” he yelped, reaching out for Albert, “Save me!”

“I gotcha, slugger,” Albert said, plucking him off of Race’s shoulder and propping him on his hip.

Emelia ran over to Race, raising her arms in question. Race picked her up, “Ready for hot cocoa, love?”

“Yeah!” She twisted around to look at her twin, “Andrew it’s hot cocoa time!”

Andrew cheered, as Albert put him down on the welcome mat inside the house.

“Papa’s gonna help you guys outta your wet clothes and into some cozy ones, while I make the hot cocoa, okay?”

“Okay!”

Race assisted the two of them in changing back into their pajamas, then sent them up to Albert while he threw their snow clothes into the dryer so that they could be used again later. When he got to the living room, he discovered Albert, Andrew, and Emelia already cuddled on the couch, sipping from mugs while they watched the beginning of The Polar Express. There was a mug waiting for him on the coffee table and he picked it up, settling next to Albert on the cushions.

He tucked his legs under him, sipping his hot cocoa as he nestled into Albert’s side, “Thanks for the cocoa, babe.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh, and by the way,” Race whispered so Andrew and Emelia couldn’t hear, “I totally won that snowball fight.”

Albert let out an offended squawk, “You did not!”

“I did, too.”

they’re still literal children i stg

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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#newsies fic #newsies #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #chaotic boys #chaotic dads

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markonasurface · 7 years

Text

36/50 - “Everything was fine, until you showed up.”

Fandom: All for the Game/The Foxhole Court Characters/pairings: Neil, Andrew, Nicky/andreil Summary: While staying in New York with Matt’s mom, they get into a bar fight.

A/N: I’ve written a couple hundred fics and I still don’t know how to end one.

Andrew followed Neil out of the hospital, Nicky, Aaron and Matt not far behind. None of them spoke, though Neil was obviously upset.

Neil got into Matt’s mom’s SUV. He pressed himself close to the door to avoid any contact from Andrew. Matt started clearing the two inches of snow off the car that had accumulated during their visit and they all waited for Nicky who was taking his time limping over to them on crutches. When Nicky made it to the car without slipping, Matt helped him into the passenger seat before finishing.

It was nearly two in the morning and the roads hadn’t yet been scraped of snow. The car swerved more than once on the way back to Matt’s mom’s house. Matt pulled up to the curb and they all piled out. Matt, Aaron and Nicky headed up the driveway, leaving footprints in the newly fallen snow but Neil and Andrew stayed by the curb.

Neil wished it had taken longer to get back. Matt looked at him over his shoulder but Neil didn’t acknowledge it. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath. The cold air felt prickly traveling down his throat and into his lungs.

Andrew waited until the others were inside before digging in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes, only to remember they’d been lost at the bar. He didn’t hesitate to stick his hand in Neil’s back pocket.

He stood still, fuming that Andrew didn’t seem to care that Neil was mad. Andrew lit two sticks and offered one to Neil. He took it but immediately put it out on the bottom of his boot.

He took another deep breath as Andrew raised a brow at him. When he exhaled, Andrew held out the lighter and Neil relit his cigarette with difficulty.

They burned through two each in silence, Neil’s hands shaking. Andrew straightened from where he was leaned against the vehicle and said, “Great talk. Are we done freezing our asses off or ...”

Neil pulled the freshly lit stick from Andrew’s fingers and broke it in half. “This is getting old, Neil,” Andrew said but tried lighting another.

Neil broke that one, too, and said, “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.” He was filled with dread and the urge to run but he planted his feet where he stood, toes going numb. He struggled to find the words he wanted to say, various sounds and half-words falling from his lips. “I-I-I - you - I -”

He groaned in frustration, trying to feel the anger that should have been simmering right under his skin, but he couldn’t burn out the fear and uncertainty that tonight had created.

Andrew held out a lit cigarette and Neil snatched it. Instead of breaking it, he held it close, cradled it near his face and breathed in deep. For the first time since he started reassociating his triggers he didn’t see Andrew or feel his mouth on his; he saw his mother and blood and smoke and fire.

He blinked hard. The next breath he took was shaky.

“Everything was fine until you showed up,” Neil said, voice thin and verging on desperate. “I was handling it. I don’t need you to beat someone up just because they won’t leave me alone. I can do it myself. I don’t need you going to jail for something I could’ve taken care of. I was handling the guy.”

“I’m not going to let -” Andrew started to say.

“Coach is going to kill us!” Neil was shouting now. “Nicky broke his ankle! I have a sprained wrist. Kevin lost over a liter of blood. The doctors don’t know how bad the damage to his hand is. We’re lucky you’re not the one who did the most damage tonight!”

Andrew opened his mouth again. “I wasn’t going to -”

“Don’t you fucking get it? If Kevin can’t play anymore, he’s fucking dead! If I can’t play anymore, I’m dead! Exy is all that is keeping us alive. It’s all that’s keeping Ichirou from having us killed.”

Neil was breathing hard and he had run out of things to say. Andrew watched him for another moment then asked, “Are you done?”

“Fuck you,” Neil spat as Andrew took a drag.

Andrew grabbed the fake fur lining Neil’s coat and pulled him close. He blew the smoke in his face and said, “No. Fuck you.”

“Me?” Neil grabbed Andrew’s hand and tried to pry it loose, had to hold tighter when he almost slipped on some ice.

“If you think I’m going to let anyone hurt you,” Andrew said. “Fuck you. I won’t let anyone - not Ichirou, not some asshole from the bar who definitely knows what no means but decides to trample all over it, anyone - I won’t let them hurt you.”

Now Neil was holding onto Andrew’s hand with both of his, knuckles white, sprained wrist throbbing. “You know you can’t stop him,” he said quietly.

Andrew’s gaze was unwavering. Maybe not him but anyone else who tries, he thought. He said, “We’ll see.”

“Andrew,” Neil’s voice lost its fight.

“It’s a fucking sprain, Neil,” Andrew’s voice stayed steady, firm. “You still have your fucking career and Kevin will be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

Andrew released his grip on Neil’s coat and lowered their hands between them. He turned Neil’s hand over, studying the back like he could see through the bandages and skin. “I didn’t see any bones,” Andrew finally said. “It’s Kevin. He’ll be back on the court before winter break is over.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re both going to make it.” Andrew took a step toward the house. “Now stop talking about it. We’ll get enough shit from Coach when he flies in tomorrow.”

Neil reluctantly closed his mouth and let Andrew pull him up the driveway and into the house. The others were asleep but they had left the bedside lamp on.

They kicked off their shoes and got into bed fully clothed. Andrew pressed his back to the wall and Neil turned off the light. He turned over and onto Andrew’s side of the bed.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you either,” he whispered.

“Shut up,” Andrew said without any heat at the same time Nicky said, “Awwww.”

Neil sat up. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I wish,” Nicky grumbled. “But my ankle hurts too bad. I guess it was worth being up to hear that.”

“Why are you in Kevin’s bed?”

Nicky sighed. “Couldn’t make it up the stairs. You just made me one hundred bucks, by the way.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Andrew said.

“But my ankle.”

Neil tossed one of his pillows across the room. “Prop it up.”

“Could you -”

“Goodnight, Nicky.”

“Gee, I love you guys, too.”

“Nicky!”

Nicky sighed. “Okay, okay, but I also won’t let anyone hurt either of you. I mean, I’ll try my hardest ...”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

#aftg #tfc #andreil #tfc fic

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